Skin Tight Seduction
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: In which John notices Sherlock's shirts, gets protective of his own jumpers, and Sherlock tries to joke and fails. It's just another day at 221B Baker Street.


**Skin Tight Seduction**

John stares at Sherlock as the detective strides out from his bedroom.

John has noticed it before, but now, _now_, when he has nothing to read or nothing to record, he _really_ observes. Sherlock would be proud.

Sherlock had had a shower, had walked out with a sheet, and only a sheet, held haphazardly over his body. Held very loosely, John had realized upon a second glance that had shown far too much skin. He had chastised Sherlock as he had looked away quickly, grumbling on about proper clothing and Mrs. Hudson coming and going as she pleased. Sherlock had only rearranged his sheet, told John that in Mrs. Hudson's day and age, she had seen just about everything, and said that John had every same body part as he did before grabbing an apple and heading back to his room. John had only sighed and looked back to the telly, resting his head on his hand.

Now, John has made the mistake to glance at Sherlock again. And he just stares.

Sherlock notices, looking at John after taking a bite of the apple. He arches an eyebrow as he chews, questioning.

John shakes his head, looking, for the second time, back to the telly. But he looks back at Sherlock when he thinks that Sherlock isn't paying attention.

He should know that Sherlock is _always_ paying attention.

"What do you want?"

"Hm, what?" John looks away from the telly, frowning at the detective. Sherlock is sitting on the couch now, typing away on his laptop.

"You keep looking at me, it's obvious you want something."

"It's just... How do you breathe?"

When Sherlock had walked out of his room, clothed, John had realized that the clothes that Sherlock wore... were exceedingly too tight.

John stares at Sherlock now, eyes narrowed. The purple shirt that he's wearing right now, it's stretched tight across his chest. The buttons are straining against the width of Sherlock's chest, looking as if they were about to pop. He honestly isn't sure how Sherlock is able to breathe, let alone move and function. And he can't figure out why Sherlock is wearing those kinds of shirts, anyway.

Wearing a tight shirt like that, it showed off just about every curve of Sherlock's torso. Sherlock was a nice looking man, John supposed. He didn't look like a slob, at least, and John supposed women seemed to like men in suits. It was obvious that Irene Adler and even someone like Molly Hooper had a crush on Sherlock. So, John thought that maybe Sherlock was attractive. However, Sherlock was the one who didn't look second at any woman, _or_ man, for that matter, and didn't care at all about sexual relations. But that shirt that he was wearing now... It made Sherlock seem like he was _trying_ to be attractive for a reason.

"Pardon me?"

"Your shirt. Look how tight it is," John replies, sighing. Sherlock would be the one to put on a tight shirt and not even notice.

Sherlock glances down, frowning. "I see nothing wrong with it. Come now, John, I don't rag on your clothing choices."

"I wear _proper_ clothes, Sherlock. The correct size."

"Really? I wouldn't have noticed."

"Excuse me?"

"Just look at your jumpers."

John glances down at himself, out of habit. He does wear a lot of jumpers; he knows that. But, what can he say? They're comfortable. He, however, isn't wearing one today. "What about them?"

"Oversized."

"They are not!" John fires back. "They are perfectly comfortable! At least I'm not layering myself in skin tight seduction," he spits, the sarcastic words falling off his tongue.

Sherlock looks annoyed. "Don't be ridiculous. Who's to seduce? You?" He smirks, his long fingers picking up his violin bow. "I told you when I met you that I was not interested."

"How does this even _relate_ back? Just, just seriously, why does everyone assume that I am gay?"

"I know you're not gay, John. I have lived with you for awhile now," Sherlock replies, sending him a look that very much reads _obviously_ without the word said aloud. "I was joking."

John stares at Sherlock again. "Joking..." he echoes, before shaking his head. "No, let's not try that again, shall we?"

Sherlock looks up from his bow. "What?"

"You are terrible at jokes," John replies, "so just don't do it."

Sherlock rolls his eyes, stretching across the couch for his violin. John watches in utter amazement as the buttons _do not_ pop off, as the fabric _doesn't_ rip. John doesn't know how Sherlock does it.

John sighs as Sherlock begins to play a light, cheerful piece on the violin.

His clothing, just like Sherlock Holmes himself, is remarkable in its capabilities.

* * *

**Oh my goodness, I love Sherlock's purple shirt of sex. *o***

**Reviews are loved... like Sherlock's shirts.**


End file.
